During my sophomore year in college, I lived in off-campus housing with six of
my friends. It was a ton of fun, but to get on to the story:
One day, Kathy made some rolls in the oven. She forgot they were in there and
went away. When she came back to the kitchen, the rolls were completely burnt.
They weren’t quite black, but they were dark brown and rock-solid. She set
them on the counter to cool, intending to throw them away when she
cleaned up the kitchen later.
I found the tray of rolls. I knocked on one, just to see how bad it was. Yep,
like rocks. I was in a mischievous mood. So I got out some paper, glue, and
markers. I made little eyes and lips for all of the burnt rolls. I glued them
on the rolls. They were awfully cute, like a burnt roll convention.
I forgot about them until that night when Janann went into
the kitchen and screamed. She yelled out, “AUGH, it’s LOOKING at me!” We all
ran in there and had a good laugh over it. Most of the rolls got thrown away,
but we kept the cutest one as a house mascot. We named her Myrtle.
Myrtle sat on the kitchen counter for six months. Eventually she was joined by
Clarice, a burnt piece of toast with no eyes or mouth. I like to think that
Myrtle helped Clarice learn to cope with the world, sort of like the Helen
Keller story of burnt baked goods. Eventually Clarice vanished, presumably
into the trash. Myrtle died a sad death, spiked in the head with a fork. It
must have been a brutal blow to pierce the toughness of her skin. Rest in
peace, Myrtle, wherever you’re decomposing.